


it may be we shall touch the happy isles

by simaetha



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, reposted from tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:12:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8379916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simaetha/pseuds/simaetha
Summary: Prompt: "Those islands that the Valar raise up around Valinor to keep out the mariners from Arda. Perhaps one of Turgon’s supplicant ships foundering there, perhaps Earendil sailing past in Silmaril-lit safety. Horrify me." - arrogantemu





	

Grey skies; the air heavy and wet, bleeding moisture through layers of fabric and leaving a slick of condensation over the deck and spars. The waves caught in strange currents and shifting winds, churning in eddies and crosstides.

Elwing, near the prow, looking out towards the unseen horizon; the light seeming almost to shine through her, face expressionless as a statue.

“No gulls,” she said, calmly. “I can’t hear anything, can you?”

“We’re not close enough to Valinor for them, yet.”

Navigation was by the stars, when they could see them. It was enough. Eärendil had been planning the journey West – all his life, he sometimes thought. Charts borrowed from Círdan, annotated with guesswork and his mother’s memories. It would have to be enough.

He’d meant to return home, this time. He hadn’t meant to stay away so long.

“But we _are_ close to land – “

A call from the other side of the deck: Falathar, sounding alarmed. Eärendil turned; Elwing followed him, mist-damp hair hanging about her face, a borrowed woollen cloak wrapped around her shoulders.

There were no islands on the chart, but that meant very little.

A moment to take it in; and then Eärendil called out orders, realising abruptly how close to the shore they had to be. The other mariners hurried into motion - only Elwing continued to stand at the rail, watching, as they fought the current.

The waves were taking them around, now, the island passing them by, the light revealing glimpses of rocky coastline, cliffs, the line of seaweed at the high-tide mark of a stony beach.

Timbers, shattered against the rock.

It was an old wreck; Eärendil saw that at once, even as he caught his breath. The sea had taken much of it already; what was left was broken and slimed with decay. If there were survivors –

The light of the Silmaril was unforgiving; it allowed nothing to go unseen.

“They did _say_ the Noldor would be shut out of Valinor,” Elwing said. For the first time since – in a long time – a smile flickered around her mouth, there and gone.

The bones were above the tideline; they had made it that far, at least. The wet chill of the air had done them no favours. Whatever the scavengers had left was brown with rot.

“But they – “

A pause. Eärendil watched the shore slowly recede. There was no sign of violence; equally, there was no sign of any attempt at survival.

The stained remnants of a hand, covering another.

It looked, he found himself thinking, as if they had simply – gone to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted [here](http://simaethae.tumblr.com/post/147609057992/arrogantemu-replied-to-your-post-prompts)


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